Featherweight and Slacker
by NauruAyumi
Summary: It would be stupid to call them boyfriend and girlfriend, a couple, or sweethearts. No, when life and soul were risked in every fight, their relationship could not be defined in such conventional words. No, Soul and Maka were lovers. Soul/Maka


Disclaimer: Soul Eater etc. does not belong to me in any way. The end.

Please enjoy!

She was fragile-looking, all legs and arms and bones with hardly any flesh. Nothing to hold on to. To the untrained eye she looked as delicate as a toothpick, a waif of a girl with sandy hair and deep green eyes. She was bookish and plain, but cheerful enough. A featherweight.

He was more solid, but where she seemed upstanding or straight-laced, he appeared lazy. His slouch was almost a permanent part of his spine. If wasn't for his careful attention to the "coolness" of his clothes, he would look like a disheveled old man from behind. His white hair stuck out in all different directions and he wore an expression of disdain and boredom. A slacker.

They knew the truth about each other, and that's what mattered.

Though they argued and bickered, she knew that he was brave and loyal. He couldn't be bothered with unimportant things. They may not have always agreed on what _was_ important, but when it came down to it, he had her back. At her side, he fought like a demon. She could trust him with her life, and she did.

Despite being on the receiving end of many unpleasant whacks on the head, he knew he could respect her. She was skinny and flat-chested, but she paid attention. She always knew what was going on and didn't waste chances. She was no damsel-in-distress; she took care of business just fine on her own, thank you very much. He could see her as she was: a true warrior, and he her weapon.

They'd touched each other's soul and grew fearless, more powerful by the day. They were partners and more than that. They were bonded. They stared evil in the eye (or eyes, as was more often the case) and won. Together they were strong. They needed that strength just like they needed each other.

It would be stupid to call them boyfriend and girlfriend, a couple, or sweethearts. No, when life and soul were risked in every fight, their relationship could not be defined in such conventional words. No, Soul and Maka were _lovers_.

The work was demanding and unkind, no matter how Shinigami-sama put it. They battled against impossible odds, against their own souls, against the very blood that ran in his veins. Clinging to each other in the night was the only promise they had of understanding. To survive, she had to use him and he had to let himself be used by her. They had scars, physical and emotional, deep and shallow, individual and mutual.

He could feel her fear of being alone, of being helpless, of being abandoned. She could feel is fear of being inadequate, of being ignored, of being weak. They never spoke these things aloud when they could help it, letting the bond between their souls share more than their shallow inhibitions and easily-wounded dignities would allow.

In his arms, she felt safe. She didn't have to confess things to him, he just _knew_. With Soul she always felt wanted, at least when they were alone together in the dark. Crushing her to him, he felt accepted. Alone together in the dark, Maka didn't try to change him.

His kisses made her feel desirable. Her kisses made him wild with desire. There was no more about tiny tits or about laziness. All they had they shared. She made him earn every scratch on his back and every gasp from her lips and for once in his life he didn't complain. He made her give up her embarrassment and self-consciousness, demanding that she love him without such unnecessary baggage.

"_Soul,"_ she whispers as they lie together, all defenses down. _How do you bear knowing that tomorrow we could be torn apart? _She wants to ask, but is afraid to speak. Because, with her, he is honest and she doesn't want to hear his answer, though she is unbearably curious. She doesn't want to know if he isn't completely hers. He just looks at her, his red eyes subtly glowing in the darkness of their room. She takes in a breath of the air that smells like them, like their sweat and sex. This is a breath that reminds her that she is alive. Maka doesn't want to admit how scared she is of the terrible things she desires: ownership of him. She wants him to be hers and hers alone. The thought of it, the selfishness of it, is almost enough to make her cry. Instead, she lets him nudge her legs apart and kiss her deeply. At least she doesn't feel alone.

They aren't children anymore, he acknowledges as he pushes himself deep inside of her. Children do things like take souls for little purpose beyond the words 'extracurricular lessons.' Those children grow up and take dangerous professions but it's hard to _live_ when Death himself is your boss. He pushes these thoughts aside, putting them away in a bare and empty part of his mind with all of his fears. He is afraid to think upon how unsure he is. What is his purpose, what does it mean to exist as a weapon? If he is a weapon, what does it mean to be a man?

He forces these things away, determined, and focuses on loving her. He wants her, and has since they were teenagers. It would be so much simpler if they could just go out together and have fun, see movies, go dancing. She pants as he makes love to her, sweat beginning to bead on her face. He takes the opportunity to kiss her. It starts slow but heats up quickly. He can't help but groan; she feels so good it could drive him insane.

They used to grasp at normalcy. They'd try to do things together, go places together, _date_ each other. It just never seemed to work out. Work always seemed to get in the way. Fighting evil was a full-time job and lately they were working overtime. She didn't mind so much coming home covered in blood and filth as long as they came home. They may never have time for dates but the gentle way Maka washed the blood from Soul's skin was better than any stupid outing anyways.

When they could be wrenched apart by fate at any time, on any day, it always felt urgent. He wanted to skip the bullshit and have her in his arms as much as possible. When they were together, naked in the dark of his room (or hers) he felt invincible. It was his name she whispered, it was his face she pulled to hers to kiss, and it was his body she craved. She, too, felt invincible, or at least immortal. With Soul she could choose to fight or surrender and either way she would win. These moments together were her prize and she coveted them. Those long nights felt like they had all the time in the world, even when the only certainty in their lives was uncertainty.

"_You complete me,"_ he murmured into her ear as she came apart in his arms. He didn't mind the cheesiness of it; it was true, after all. She hears him and it just makes the ecstasy of the moment so much higher. Soul doesn't use more words than he needs, that would be uncool, so Maka learns to appreciate the ones he does use.

Only now, as she comes, she can't form any words to tell him how much she needs him, and wants him, and loves him. All she can do is feel the passion of the moment, the joy stolen from a hard life, the sweetness of being loved.

Their souls lightly touch and he feels as though he is exploding, incinerating, at once in a thousand pieces and whole. _Strong_. He can feel her, her body, her thoughts, her love. Most of all, her love. Soul knows she can feel him, too.

_Even if this moment is my last, I love you._

Their souls merge and they fly away. In these moments they are free.

Please R&R! Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
